


Alone

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Series: Mission Arc [6]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 10:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17323025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: Just when Face starts to think that life is swinging his way - there's a set back.





	Alone

Face had no warning of what was coming, none at all in the ordinary looking white envelope, postmarked three months previously, that dropped onto his breakfast table one morning.

 

“Mail?” Jonno said around a mouthful of something that was supposed to resemble bacon, “Fucking-A, sir!”

 

Hannibal smiled as he moved down the table of the Mess, dropping bundles of ratty looking mail in front of each of his men, noting with a pang Face’s solitary letter, but seeing his expression light up anyway as he reached to grab it from the table.

 

Seven weeks they’d been away from base, and just had this last mission to wrap up before they were headed out to Germany for maybe a week of down time before it all started up again. Hannibal was pleased he’d insisted that they detour to the Canadian Army base out here in Western Kuwait, was even more pleased that he’d taken the risk of having their accumulated mail sent out to meet them here; it was nice to have a chance to catch up.

 

Seeing Face eagerly ripping into his envelope, Hannibal smiled to himself and wandered out of the Mess.

 

___________________

 

It took Face all of three seconds to realise what his letter actually was. He should have known, should have noticed how thin it was, Father David always sent such thick, fat envelopes. But he was nothing if not the consummate professional actor, and shoving the letter quickly into the pocket of his combats, he forced himself to finish his meal, to laugh and express interest in all the right places at Piper’s news, and wait until he could leave the Mess quietly and calmly without drawing too much attention to himself.

 

Army bases are not the best places to be if you want some privacy. Especially not if it’s an Army base you don’t know, have never been to and full of soldiers you’ve never met before. Face finally found a truck graveyard and hauled himself into the back of an old wheel-less M35 before going back to the letter with shaking hands and pulling it out to read.

 

It was an almost impossible task, it was dark in the back of the truck, the letter wouldn’t keep still due to the shaking of his hands and no matter how many times blinked it away, the moisture in his eyes just kept on coming back, blurring Father Cecil’s words.

 

Key phrases jumped out at him, “short illness”, “peaceful end” things like that that just didn’t _mean_ anything to him out here, they were just words, words that he could barely relate to and certainly couldn’t attribute to the Father David he’d last seen almost eight months ago. That Father David had been fit and strong, laughing with him as they’d eaten chicken with their fingers in a restaurant over-looking the beach, Face thrilled beyond all measure that he had the money with which to do this, take someone out for dinner, and that of course the someone had wanted to come with him. 

 

Even better was the relief and the pride that Face could see in the old man’s eyes as he filled him in on all that had happened since his return to Hannibal’s unit, how everything was finally starting to go right for him, how not only his commander could now see what he was, the talents he possessed and that he felt he’d finally, finally found his place in the world. Father David had beamed at him and held his greasy and sticky hand in his own and smiled at him with tears in his eyes. Face could picture it now, the joy in that face he knew so well as he’d leaned across the table and whispered, “I’m proud of you my boy, so, so proud of you.”

 

Face had smiled back, pushed down the guilt he’d felt at hiding _the rest_ of his relationship with his CO, the parts that happened in Hannibal’s quarters on a night and that Face was sure the Priest  _wouldn’t_ approve of. He’d explained away the closeness of his relationship with Hannibal as a father/son thing, a close friendship, a dear mentor… and was sure that he’d successfully hood-winked the old guy; after all, surely it would be the very last thing that would be suspected about two Army Rangers by a Roman Catholic Priest? Instead, he’d ordered champagne for them both and basked in the warmth of having _two people_ in his life who loved him.

 

Maybe that was what finally brought the tears to the back of a broken down Army truck in the ass end of Kuwait, his letter crumpled in his hand, the thought that, just at the point that he had felt he was starting to _collect_ people who were on his side, people who believed in him and were there for him, he was starting to lose them again.

 

It was dark before he dragged himself out of the back, his eyes sore and gritty, his limbs numb and drained and a pain in his chest so, so tight and painful, so agonisingly sharp, that he could hardly breathe for it.

 

But he had a job to do, a team and a CO that were relying on him, and it wasn’t like he wasn’t well versed in the act of wrapping up his pain and hiding it away. No one would know, he told himself, as he marched determinedly back across the camp, he would wait until they were back in the States before he told Hannibal, would carry on exactly as he had before and no one would know a damn thing had changed for him.

 

____________________________

 

Eight days later...

 

Hannibal huddled further down into his coat and cursed as the wind blew out his match yet again. He gave up trying to light his cigar for now and instead just ducked his head against the driving sleet of the German winter and almost sprinted for the welcoming lights of his base accommodation. They were here for two weeks, debrief and planning session with Morrison, a chance to have their various aches and pains looked at and also to stock up on supplies before heading out again, back to the round of Black Ops that were already being set up for them.

 

Hannibal’s plans to slim their team down to an elite team of two were going slower than he’d hoed, but the last two months of missions had gone well. If it hadn’t been for the narrow miss they’d had on that very last one, he’d have been flying high, but as it was he couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling of disappointment that was settled deep in his bones.

 

The mission had been a success. They had recovered the intel they had been sent in to get, neutralised their target effortlessly and even managed to get in and out of Iraq completely undetected, but it was the manner that it had been completed in that disturbed Hannibal, not in the least because it had all been Face’s fault.

 

The kid had been sloppy. He was on perimeter support, he was by far the best they had with a sniper rifle and he was tasked with hanging back, making sure they weren’t surprised by anyone coming up on them from the desert. Not only had he failed to notice the troop of brigands coming into the little camp from the north, once he eventually spotted them, he caused panic and mayhem by managing to only clip the leader in the shoulder and then miss the rest of the gang altogether.

 

Fortunately, the rest of the team had been just about finished anyway, and the attackers were an undisciplined bunch of opportunistic thieves, not part of Saddam’s highly trained elite forces. They all managed to get out, mission complete, and they all managed to reach the RV to find a white and shaking Face who looked so damn terrified at the mess he’d caused that Hannibal had just given him a look before organising their extraction.

 

In retrospect, however, that move had probably been the wrong one to make. Since that frantic rendezvous in the dark desert night, he’d had the distinct impression that Face had been avoiding him, and in the three days they’d been in Germany, he’d hardly clapped eyes on him at all. Usually the kid would appear in his quarters on a night with beers and maybe a DVD and eventually they would tumble into bed for a while, indulge themselves in loving and being loved, before having to go out and face the world as CO and subordinate once more.

 

He’d thought they had a good working arrangement there, based on a sound understanding of how they felt about each other, Hannibal was not at all shy about telling Face that he loved him on a regular basis, and Face told him back, and more to the point he believed the kid, so... What the fuck was all this silence and hiding?

 

But Hannibal was cold, he was bone tired and, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was more than a little worried that maybe Face had out-grown him, and so if that was the way that the game was going to be from now on, well that was just fine by him – he wasn’t going to go running all over the base like a lovesick teenager trying to track the kid down.

 

He let himself into his small but warm apartment and fished a nice, cold German beer from his ice-box as he sat down to open the mail he’d been carrying around with him since last week. He’d opened the important looking stuff straight away, a letter from his mom, and one from his sister; a surprise card made for him by his nephew and a long letter from his friend’s dad, who felt it his duty to write after Tim had passed away, five years ago. Hannibal smiled at the thought of the letters he’d had and then leafed through the remaining three, bill, car insurance and, he frowned at the plain, handwritten envelope marked LA and ripped it open.

 

He noted with confusion that the address was a Roman Catholic Orphanage, _Face’s_ old orphanage, but by the time he had read the first paragraph he was on the edge of his seat, his beer forgotten and his heart beating hard against his ribs.

 

“Dear Hannibal,

You must forgive my forward nature in writing you this letter since we have only met on the one occasion, but if you are receiving this correspondence from me, it would appear, unfortunately, that I am now deceased.”

 

In a rapidly accelerating panic, Hannibal quickly skipped down to the bottom of the sheet and the signature that flowed across the bottom of the page, Father David Magill, and his whole body went cold. Resisting the temptation just to get up and run from the room in search of his boy, he forced himself to go back to the start and read the whole page slowly, panic firmly squashed down as he absorbed fact after fact.

 

Face’s mentor, the only person he ever talked about with any kind of affection and admiration was ill, pneumonia, and he was worried that he didn’t have long left. He’d written a letter for Face, as well, a long one, detailing all that he loved about the boy, all that he was proud of, but he was leaving that in LA to be read after his boy returned from deployment. However, in the meantime, he wanted Hannibal to know what was happening, was worried about how his Templeton would cope with the loss, how he would cope from now on in without the Father to fall back on when the going got tough.

 

On the one occasion they had met back in LA, Father David had told Hannibal how highly Face thought of him and he reiterated this now, stating how much Face had talked about Hannibal in his letters home, how strong and deep his feelings and trust for his CO obviously ran, ‘adoration’ was the word that the Priest used and Hannibal felt shades of guilt wash over him at the mess he’d made of that visit to the orphanage, that reunion with Face after that disastrous Iran mission. Despite what Face may have thought, the Father was well aware of the true nature of their relationship and the message he was sending was loud and clear – without Father David, there would be no one left to help pick up the pieces if Hannibal screwed up again, which was important, vitally important, as now, Face was alone in the world once more.

 

With tears in his eyes Hannibal tore from the room, not even stopping to get his coat as he flew out into the freezing night air. Alone in the world again? No, he wasn’t, not now, not ever. Face would never be alone again, _never_ and Hannibal made that promise to the stars hidden behind the thick snow clouds as he ran over to the boys’ accommodation block.

 

\-----------------------

 

Three hours later he was still searching. Face hadn’t been with the others, Piper had real worry in his eyes as he told Hannibal that they had hardly seen him since they’d arrived in Germany and that something clearly was not right with him. Hannibal had just nodded and dashed straight back out into the falling snow to continue looking.

 

He was starting to get desperate and the snow was starting to lie on the frigid ground by the time he jogged past the PT ground and saw the lone figure standing at the top of the climbing tower, looking out across the training fields. He was almost lost against the snow filled sky, but Hannibal knew it was him, and ignoring the pain in his frozen fingers and the lack of a safety rope, started climbing.

 

He got to the top, struggling to his feet on the slick wooden boards and Face turned to him, the desperation in his tear streaked features enough to shatter the older man’s heart into a million pieces. “Oh, Face,” he said, just reaching out as Face reached back for him, “come here, come here my boy, you’re not alone, never, never, never...”

 

Face was cold, wet through and shaking and collapsed against his CO’s chest, sobs coming in loud, broken gulps, “John... John...” was all he managed to stutter out and Hannibal held him tighter.

 

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered, “I’m here, you’re not alone. Never alone again, I’ve got you.”

 

“He’s gone,” Face choked out, his frozen fingers clutching convulsively at Hannibal’s wet shirt. “He’s gone...”

 

“I know,” Hannibal murmured and suddenly realised what had been in the one solitary letter that Face had received in Kuwait and almost kicked himself for not thinking of that sooner. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”

 

The storm kicked up yet another notch and the wind started buffeting them on their precarious perch and Hannibal knew it was time they left.

 

It took almost half an hour of gentle guiding and pushing before they were back in the warmth of Hannibal’s flat and under the lights of the tiny bathroom where Face, pale and tragic, managed to look even worse than before.

 

Within minutes Hannibal had him stripped and under a warm shower, and seeing him sagging against the tiled wall, eyes closed and looking without a hope in the word, he quickly flung off his own clothes and joined him, gathering his still frozen body to him under the spray.

 

For a few minutes they didn’t move, Face had his forehead resting in Hannibal’s collar bone and was content to hold onto the boss securely around the waist while Hannibal held him back and kept him upright, but eventually, that wasn’t enough for him. Hannibal had been holding him close, letting the water run over them and wondering what the hell he could do to make any of this any better, when Face moved, tipping his head back, his empty, devastated eyes locking on to Hannibal’s. Then he reached up, stretching out, and keeping his eyes fixed on Hannibal for as long as he could, he pressed his lips to the boss’ own wet ones and Hannibal could feel the request in there, the plea for something that Hannibal would always give him.

 

Without thought he started up a slow, deep kiss, opening Face up expertly with his tongue and pulling them closer together so that even the water couldn’t trace a path between them.  Face entered into the kiss wholeheartedly, almost desperately, and within a minute Hannibal could feel the heat of his erection pushing against his own thigh and he realised what he could do to help, to make sure that Face felt something other than despair – even if it was just for a few minutes.

 

He pulled away, a job easier thought about than performed as Face followed him, not wanting to lose the contact of that mouth on his, but eventually he managed it. He left his thumb in the place of his lips, stroking over Face’s own as he awkwardly lowered himself to his knees in the tiny shower cubicle, and just as Face opened his eyes and was about to speak, he took the warm length in his mouth. The noise that Face made as he slumped back against the wall went straight to Hannibal’s cock but he ignored it for now, knowing that this wasn’t about him, this was about Face, all about Face, and set his lips and mouth and tongue to work, using every trick and technique he had at his disposal to make this as stunning as he possibly could.

 

He tried to look up, to gage the effect his caress was having, but the spray made it impossible so instead he just concentrated on what he could _feel_   instead, the little whimpers that were being pulled from Face’s lips and the way the thighs under his hands were tensing more with every second.

 

But then, just as he was thinking that the kid must be getting close to the edge now, there was an insistent pulling on his head, pulling him back, pulling him up and Hannibal let himself be drawn away, rising stiffly to his feet, hands going to hold Face’s cheeks, wondering what he had done wrong.

 

He blinked away the water from his eyes and looked at his lover, and the expression that met him crushed him all over again. The kid still looked so desperate and needy and lost and just wretched and a feeling of helplessness, so powerful, welled up inside him making him wanting to scream in frustration and vicarious pain.

 

Face’s lips moved, and over the sound of the water, Hannibal frowned as he thought he heard the words and wondered what they meant, “Please, boss...” But just as he opened his mouth to frame the question, Face turned away from him and braced his head against his forearm on the white tiles and he suddenly understood. For a minute he hesitated, not wanting to do this in these circumstances, not wanting to take Face like this in the shower, like they did sometimes when they wanted it fast and rough, but then those blue eyes looked back at him and the horror of supposed rejection was already starting to form there and Hannibal instantly moved.

 

“It’s okay,” he soothed, leaning in the kiss Face’s lips once more before squirting a handful of shampoo into his palm, “I got you, kid,” he whispered, “I know what you need.”

 

Satisfied, Face turned back and Hannibal prepared him, taking as much care and love as he could even as the body in front of him started trembling in need. He was ready in less than a minute and shuffled as close as he could, lining his shampoo-slick cock up with Face’s hole and slowly, firmly and with as much love as he could muster – he pushed himself in.

 

Once he was sheathed as deeply as he possibly could be, he wrapped his arms around Face’s hips and gently lifted him away from the wall to lean his head back in the spray of the water. He might have agreed to do this Face’s way, but that didn’t mean to say he would have him braced against the wall like that, like a whore.

 

Face kept trying to duck his head, however and so Hannibal turned them on the spot, letting the water blast the back of his own head instead as he lifted a hand and used it to caress the boy’s chin, holding him in place so that he was resting against Hannibal and the older man could whisper words of love in his ear, and then he started moving.

 

Within minutes Face was writhing against him, desperate little sounds escaping from his lips as Hannibal rocked inside him, holding them close as he brought him higher and higher. And then, just when he knew that Face was right on the edge, was close to sliding over, he reached down, took hold of his erection and stroked it furiously, pushing him over the precipice and milking him as he sobbed his way through his climax.

 

Hannibal himself didn’t come, but that didn’t matter as Face just collapsed in his arms the second his cock had stopped spurting and Hannibal had to hold him firmly to keep them both from crashing to the floor. He hauled him back to his feet as sobs continued to wrack his trembling body and quickly rinsed him clean before shutting off the water and almost carrying him out into the bedroom. Sitting on the end of the bed with Face in his lap like a child, Hannibal reached over and pulled a towel off the pile on the dresser, towelling them both off before pulling back the duvet and clambering under, pulling Face with him until they were laid wrapped up together, arms and legs a jumbled mess. And still Face sobbed, his arms tight around Hannibal’s neck, his face buried in the firm mass of his chest and Hannibal let him, keeping him close, keeping him safe, stroking his wet hair and telling him how much he loved him, how it wouldn’t always hurt this much and how he would always be there for him.

 

Slowly the sobs settled down into noisy gulps but Hannibal kept up the slow soothing strokes with his hand, running over and over again through the damp wavy hair. His heart ached for Face, for the fear and devastation he’d seen in those eyes he knew so well, but in the back of his mind he couldn’t get rid of the traitorous little voice that kept on asking why Face hadn’t told him, why he’d continued on in Kuwait and Iraq carrying this inside him. Hannibal knew know that that’s why the mission had almost been blown and he felt a surge of annoyance that Face would do that to himself, would give himself that burden of guilt to carry just because, for whatever reason, he didn’t feel he could bother Hannibal by telling him. Hannibal needed to put him right on that front because they were in a relationship here, unconventional maybe and definitely secret, but a relationship still, with all the things that relationships involved, like trust and sharing.

 

But now wasn’t the time to open all of that up with Face, just like it wasn’t the time to talk about sitting out of a mission if you can’t guarantee your focus. That would be revisited at a later time, all tonight was about was getting Face through this, helping him to get some kind of stability back into his life. Tonight, this week, next week, that would be his focus and he would make sure that Russ understood that. The missions that they had discussed so far had not been so urgent that they wouldn’t wait a couple of weeks, not like Face, he couldn’t wait, and anyway, Hannibal had no intention of making him.

 

The letter from Father Magill, the events of the last week or so, all combined to show Hannibal how much he still had to learn about his boy, how much was still hidden away in a confused and chaotic past. But Hannibal could be a patient man when the rewards made it worthwhile, and getting to know everything about the kid, getting to learn so much about him that he knew him better than Face knew himself, well, that was certainly a treasure worth waiting for and working for.

 

In his arms, the last bit of tension slid from Face’s frame as he finally fell asleep in the warmth of his lover’s embrace and Hannibal offered up his own prayer, hoping that somewhere in heaven Father David would hear it. It was a prayer of thanks for sending Face to him, and a solemn vow that, as long as he had a single breath left in his body, Face would never be alone again.


End file.
